I am tired
of being tired
because I do not sleep
instead I lay
or is it lie
counting these ******* sheep
inside my head
and feeling dead
because in my head I keep
every thought
I’m sure I bought
within me, dark and deep

I’m ******* sick
of being sick
because I am too weak
to just admit
I’m tired of it
this constant losing streak
of all these years
and all these fears
have left me feeling bleak

I haven’t lived
I have not lived
a single ******* day
I hate my brain
I want this pain
to ******* go away

These words can’t show
what I can’t show
but I’m already dead

Stop showing
You love me
A little at a time.

Stop saying
You care
Bit by bit.

Stop keeping
Me here
For tiny pieces of time.

Because I need
All of you
Not piece by piece.

I love
All of you
Not just some parts of you.

So love all of me
All the way
All the time.

Or let all of me go
All at once
For good.

Once I spoke the language of the flowers,
Once I understood each word the caterpillar said,
Once I smiled in secret at the gossip of the starlings,
And shared a conversation with the housefly
in my bed.
Once I heard and answered all the questions
of the crickets,
And joined the crying of each falling dying
flake of snow,
Once I spoke the language of the flowers. . . .
How did it go?
How did it go?

She sits there
fifteen feet from me
alone.
tears are frozen in her eyes
have been for a few days.
I know how she gets,
I used to wipe away those tears.
But now I just sit here and pretend not to notice
because she told me to.
And that's what hurts-
not that she told me to-
but that I can't disobey
and go sit there.

There are two tonight-
two ambulances,
red lights illuminating the dark neighborhood
as they make their weekly trip to the old folks home
at the end of the street.
This could be the end of eight decades for someone
for a neighbor of mine.
Could be one less crazy old woman
walking down the street shouting at the neighborhood dogs
(and mailboxes).
The lights fade from view as they cross 9th.
A tear falls to my desk
as I wonder
"who was that?
what ended tonight?"
and as I lay down and roll over to stare at the wall
I imagine who they could have been.

The combing of the hair
the brushing
the hand holding the strands
brushing her hair

Coco wishes
it was her hair
wants to feel more
than hair

wanting to feel full stop
to enter in
to hold
to kiss

to take
each inch of skin
and lick
and o gods of wherever

is this love?
such overwhelmingness
such empting
and the hair held

the fingers
letting run through
the sensation
the breath held

the breathing paused
love o love o love
and then
there is this

that wanting
to be with
wanting
to have and kiss

and the brushing of hair
and eyes taking in
each aspect
from each angle

and she is speaking
and Coco hears
but doesn’t
listens but the words

are slippery as eels
and are gone
but there
allusive

just out of reach
and the neck
and the skin
and that space

her eyes settle on
and that bath time
that watching
as one does

that drying of another
as one is paid to do
but more
o love wants more

not once
not twice or thrice
but forever
if such there is

for this young miss
for Coco
to have and hold
and deeply kiss.